


Get Your Kicks

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: 1980s, F/M, Human AU, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: A split-second decision leads Marianne to leave her whole life behind and go on a cross country roadtrip in search of some action.  What will she find in a small, Texas town's biker bar off Route 66?





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty excited about this one. Not sure how many parts there will be. Four or five, probably. We'll see...

Marianne was exhausted.

Driving for twelve and a half hours would do that to ya.

It had been a spur of the moment decision, but the emotion behind it had been steadily building over the course of the last few days.  If it wasn’t still so rage-inducing, humiliating, and a touch painful, she could’ve laughed a whole lot more at how easily her life fell apart in less than a week.        

She’d been all set to marry her fiancé the previous weekend.  They’d been dating since college, and he was so charming and handsome that when he’d popped the question, she accepted without any hesitation whatsoever.  For months, she radiated girlish happiness and anticipation, so much so that when they reached the twenty-four hour countdown, she was just too excited to uphold the traditional warning of bad luck and hurried over to his apartment with a boutonniere she’d made by hand.

And there she caught him.

In bed with some random woman, the night before their wedding.   

To be honest, she didn’t remember much about what happened after that.  It was as if her body went on autopilot.  She _did_ recall cussing Roland out, forcefully taking back his key to her place, and of course, calling off the wedding, but with no explanation. 

The rest of the week passed by in a haze of her drinking wine, binge-watching TV, and ignoring the seemingly endless stream of messages from her concerned friends, family, and ‘oh- _so_ -very-repentant’ asshole ex.  She took off work to have some extra privacy and to sort things out.     

Gradually, things became clear, as if a spell had been lifted.  A wildfire had replaced the naive joy of a blushing bride-to-never-be.  She threw out everything that reminded her of that lying bastard, and was shocked at how much of her true self she had allowed him to suppress.  Her affinity for dark colors, heavy makeup, hard rock music, martial arts, punk outfits and accessories; the list went on.  

Now that she was no longer under the influence of his manipulative sweet talk and stupidly perfect paper thin smile, it didn’t take a genius to deduce that his little prenuptial tryst hadn’t been his sole blunder.  Oh, no.  It was blatantly obvious now that he’d never, _ever_ been faithful to her. 

_Who, her?  Why, she’s just my cousin, buttercup._

_Sorry I’m so late, sugar.  I uh, ran outta gas._

_Can’t come over tonight, darlin’.  I’ve gotta...give Chipper a bath._

_We’re just studyin’, sweetheart.  No need to worry.  Ya know yer the only one fer me!_

Six years of her life, and her goddamn _virginity_ she’d given to that prick!  And yet, as much as she hated him, she hated herself more for falling for it. 

 _That_ was what brought her to the present.  She needed to get away.  _Far_ away from this pampered, goody-two-shoes, princess lifestyle _he’d_ almost fooled her into forever.  And she wanted to do something absolutely outrageous!  Something that would make her feel alive and free, and _spit_ in the face of the dumb, bimbo she used to be.  To hell with the consequences. 

So, after a visit to her landlord, she had her bat shit crazy plan: she was just gonna pack a few things and drive down the highway until she couldn’t anymore.  Then, she was going to pick up the sexiest stranger she could find, and have the hottest fucking sex of her life! 

At 2am today, her journey began.  She tossed two bulging duffel bags filled with mostly her clothes and a few special things like her favorite books, LPs, and cassette tapes into the back of her navy ’76 Ford Pinto.  In the passenger seat next to her, was a backpack with her wallet, pocketknife, toiletries, and a couple of snacks for the road.  She left Springfield, Illinois behind, hopped on the famed Route 66 at St. Louis and just drove west through Missouri and Oklahoma, blaring her radio and only stopping for gas and/or bathroom breaks. 

Finally, when she crossed the state line into Texas, she began to feel tired, and an hour later, she knew she needed to find a motel, or else risk ending this trip with an unfortunate accident. 

She grumbled to herself when she passed the town’s sign, which proudly said: ‘Groom, TX.’  Ha, ha, look at that; the universe thought it was _hilarious_.

It was your standard southern farming community.  Small, quaint, unassuming, and surrounded by fields, but she saw no motel until she was a couple miles outside of the main strip.

The words: ‘THE ORB INN’ were painted in big, loopy letters on a plank of wood, swinging back and forth in the breeze on two chains attached to a rusty pole.  It certainly looked wanting for business, for she saw no cars in the lot despite the ‘Open’ sign hanging from the office door, but not the least bit shady.  In fact, the odd, bright cerulean, white, and fuchsia color scheme sort of reminded her of her younger sister.    

Sold, she pulled into the empty parking lot, parked directly in front of the office, and climbed out of the car. 

Some people might’ve thought this was the end of the universe, but Marianne was already in love with the peace and quiet, and of course, those wide open skies, dotted with the fluffiest clouds she’d ever seen.  In its own simple way, it was absolutely beautiful.

The door chimed when she entered the office.  It was small, and dimly lit with both the sunlight filtering through the open blinds and several fruit-scented candles.  Everything was either white, or a shade of blue.  The walls were covered with various band posters, Native American tapestries, ceramic plates, framed pictures of flowers, and shelves lined with crystal figurines.  There was a shag carpet, a round coffee table flanked by two chairs, a beaded archway at the opposite end of the room.  To Marianne’s immediate left, was the sign-in counter.  “Love is Strange” by Mickey & Sylvia was playing low on a portable turntable beside the register. 

Sitting on a stool behind the counter was a skinny, older woman with aquamarine eyes, a headband that looked more like a tiara tucked into a pretty impressive platinum blonde up-do.  She wore a puffy, 60s style, white shirt, with a tag that read ‘Manager’, and a long indigo tie-dyed skirt. 

She hadn’t said a word, nor even moved when Marianne came in.  Instead, she was just staring blankly at the wall across from her. 

“Hi.”  Marianne greeted as she walked up to the register.  “I’d like a room, please?”

The woman didn’t respond.

Glancing around awkwardly, Marianne tried again.

“Um, hello?  Ma’am?”

Nothing. 

This time, she rang the bell.

“Excuse me?”   

 Still no reaction.

Now, Marianne was beginning to feel somewhat worried, so she leaned in closer and waved her hand in front of the lady’s face.  

“Hey, are you alri-?”

“AAAAAAAHHH!!!”

The sudden scream from the manager made Marianne jump back and yelp in alarm. 

“Oh!  Oh, my!”  The woman stammered, fussing with her clothes and hair.  “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry, my dear!  I was meditating and I didn’t hear you!  I deeply apologize, I tend to zone out something awful when that happens!  I hope I didn’t frighten you?”

“Uh, n-no.  No, not at all.”  Marianne replied while nervously clutching the strap of her backpack.  “I just wanted to know if I could please have a room?”

“Why of course, dear!  Of _course_!  Let’s see, ah...oh!  Sign here, please!”

A bit of fumbling and the register was slid across the counter for Marianne to pen her name into. 

“I do beg your pardon, miss...?”

“Marianne.”

“Miss Marianne.  I’m Aura Plum.  Business can get pretty dead around here, so my brain just shuts off from time to time.”

“Don’t worry about it.  You need to see my ID?”

“Yes!  Yes, I do.  Thank you, dear!”

Handing over her driver’s license for inspection, Marianne watched as the manager’s penciled eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, my!  Illinois?  You sure came a long way!  Poor dear, you must be _exhausted_!”

“Yeah, it’s been quite a drive.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll want to rest for a while, but when you get hungry, you should hop over to my sister’s bar across the road.  They don’t have much, but she’s a damn good cook, and always willing to whip up something tasty for a weary traveler.”

At the mention of a bar, Marianne’s attention perked up and she turned to gaze out the windows.  The glare of the afternoon sun was harsh, but she could just make out the shape of a phone booth and a wide, one-story building on the other side of the dusty street. 

Part one of her plan was accomplished, so perhaps, _that_ would be the perfect place to begin her hunt for her sexy stranger.

“Since it’s a Tuesday, it probably won’t be at all crowded.  In fact, I’d be surprised if anyone other than my nephew and his friends showed up, but they’re all very nice people and they’ll make you feel perfectly welcome.  Oh, and by the way, if you need to make a call, you’ll have to use their payphone.  My lines went bad, and I’m still in the process of getting them replaced.”

“Oh?  Okay, no problem.”

_That’ll be a good way to ease into this.  I’ll need to let Dawn know I’m alright._

But first, she needed a nap! 

 

* * *

 

By the time Marianne was nice and rested, it was in the middle of sunset.  She stretched the sleep out of her muscles and hopped off the generic green bedspread.  Her motel room was at the far end of the ground floor, for her privacy, and its simplistic décor was designed in such a way as to remind her of a garden: with its sage colored furniture, brown carpet, pale pink curtains, and wallpaper with tiny blue flowers for a pattern.  All in all it was pleasant enough, but Marianne was still eager to get out and explore the bar Aura had mentioned. 

She was just reaching into her suitcase for a change of clothes when she heard a sound.  It was the rumbling roar of a motorcycle; several, in fact.        

Curious, she peeled back the curtain and peered out the window, just in time to see four of them pull into the bar’s parking-lot.  The distance and fading light made it difficult to make out details, but she distinctly saw five people dressed in dark clothing climb off the machines and head for the front doors.  There were two enormous ones, both built like the Hulk, a contrast to another shorter and stockier pair that had been riding the same vehicle. 

But the one that caught most of Marianne’s attention was the presumed leader.  He was as tall as the bigger men, but was incredibly thin, though she _could_ tell he had a lean, muscular build.  So much the better, for she’d never been a girl for muscle-heads, and she’d prefer a guy she could take in a fight if he turned out to be creep.  For a moment, she felt like Goldilocks in the fairy-tale and smirked to herself; she might’ve found the ‘just right’ choice. 

Excitement spiking, she hurried into her outfit for the evening.  She was dressed to entice, in a flirty, off the shoulder top of rich fuchsia, navy leggings that showed off her toned legs, and a pair of tan, knee-high boots.  As a final touch, she teased her pixie hair to its presentably wildest disarray and painted her lips and eyes with her favorite deep purple makeup. 

After checking herself in the mirror, and _really_ liking what she saw, she grabbed her wallet and room key, and slipped them into her violet clutch purse. 

_Showtime._

Stepping out into the dusky, mid-Western evening, she jogged across the open and empty Route 66 to the phone booth sitting at the corner of the biker bar’s lot.  “It’s Only Rock n’ Roll (But I Like It)” was playing from the inside, and Marianne smirked to herself, getting more eager to check the place out by the second. 

 _The Bog n’ Brew, huh? Interesting name._ She thought, eyeing the joint’s neon blue sign as she slipped into the booth.  

Depositing her quarters, she punched in the number and cradled the receiver against her shoulder.  

The line picked up before the second ring could finish purring.

“ _Hello_?”

She smiled at the slightly anxious, but familiar voice of her little sister.

“Hey, Dawn!  It’s m-”

“MARIANNE RACHEL FAYE!  WHERE THE  ** _FUCK_**  ARE YOU?!”

A startled gasp flew from Marianne’s lips as she fell backwards into the booth’s door.  The handset slipped from her grasp and she fumbled to grab it back, all the while, hearing her sister continue to scream at her.  She’d never heard Dawn use language like  _that_ , and until now, she hadn’t thought her voice could get that  _loud_ either.  

“Dawn!”  She cried, finally getting ahold of the phone again.  “Dawn, calm down!”

“DON’T YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!”  Her sister shouted in an even angrier tone.  “YOU UP AND TAKE OFF WITHOUT LEAVING SO MUCH AS A NOTE?!  HOW WOULD _YOU_ LIKE IT IF YOU CAME OVER TO _MY_ APARTMENT, FOUND EVERYTHING GONE, AND NOBODY KNEW WHERE I WENT?!”

Fair enough. Marianne would’ve shit a brick and called the FBI. 

“YOU SCARED ME TO _DEATH_!” 

“Okay, okay, Dawn!  I’m _sorry_!”  Marianne said anxiously.  “But if you’ll just stop yelling at me, I’ll explain everything!”

There was a tense pause on the other end of the line before she heard Dawn reply through grit teeth:

“Start talking.”

Marianne took a deep breath and silently prayed her story would make sense to her nearest and dearest family member. 

“Alright...again, I apologize for worrying you, Dawn...I just......I just _had_ to get away.  After everything that happened...Dawn, I couldn’t stand it.”

“So, _naturally_ the most _logical_ course of action would be to run away without _talking_ to anyone.  Not even _me_!”  Dawn spat with enough blatant sarcasm to make Marianne wince.

“I’ll admit, it was irresponsible, but that was the whole _point_!”

“How?!”

“Dawn, my whole life I’ve done nothing but what was expected of me!  Dad wanted me in all those clubs in high school; I was!  He wanted me to go to Notre Dame; I went!  He wanted me to study business; I did!  Then Roland came along and controlled practically every other single aspect of my life!  I never got to be my own person!  To do things _I_ wanted to do.  To make sculptures!  To sing!  To travel!  _Anything_!  You know what a jerk he was!”

“NO!  No, I _don’t_ know!  You still haven’t told me what he did to make you call off the wedding!  I specifically remember you saying you didn’t wanna talk about it!  But regardless, I still don’t see why _any_ of this warranted you just vanishing on us!  Dad is furious, and you are SO lucky I didn’t let him call the cops yet!”

“I haven’t even been gone twenty-four hours!”

“THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING _POINT_!!!” 

“Okay, Dawn!  I said I’m sorry, okay?  I’m very sorry I worried you guys!  I should’ve told you.  I promise it won’t happen again, but now you know that I’m alright and...I’m just taking a little break for a while.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence before her sister spoke again.

“So where exactly are you?”

“I’m in Groom, Texas.  Just east of Amarillo.”

“Geez...when will you come _home_?”

“...In a few days; a week, tops.”

Marianne bit her lip.  She hated lying to Dawn, but it was obvious that her intention to _never_ return to Springfield and start a new life elsewhere, would _not_ go over well at the moment.  She’d have to ease everyone into it later.

“Fine.” Dawn grumbled, and Marianne felt herself begin to relax, until her sister added a distressing bit of information:

“By the way, just so you know, your ‘jerk’ of an ex is looking for you.”

“You told _Roland_ I was missing?!”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?!”  Dawn snapped.  “He _was_ your boyfriend for six years!  For all I knew, you could’ve made up with him and been spending the night in his apartment!”

Marianne wanted to hurl, but she couldn’t deny the logic behind her sister’s step, considering what she knew.  Or more accurately, what she _didn’t_.  

She opened her mouth to say something, but Dawn beat her to it.

“He didn’t say much.  Only that you weren’t there, and that he was going to see if he could find you himself.  Then he hopped in his car and left.”

A nervous prickle touched the back of Marianne’s neck and she glanced at the darkening highway outside of the booth.  There was no way he’d find her.  She’d left no clues behind as to her whereabouts and she was states away!  He couldn’t possibly track her all the way here...

...right?

There'd be _way_ more confidence in her assurances if Roland hadn’t already established himself to be almost as stubborn as she was, and about a hundred times more persistent.  She had mentioned numerous times while they were dating that she’d always wanted to go on a road trip down Route 66.  He probably thought this was a golden opportunity to ‘reason’ with her and get back together. 

_Over my dead body._

“I’ll keep an eye out for him, but if you see him first, do NOT tell him where I am.”

“Under the circumstances, I don’t think I owe you any favors.”

“Dawn, _please_!”

“Oh, calm your tits!  I’m not gonna tell him anything!  But don’t you _EVER_ do a stupid thing like this again!  Got it?!”

“I got it.  I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Just be careful, okay?  And come back soon.  I’ll... _try_ to explain all this to dad and keep him from sending the army or something after you.”

“Thanks Dawn.”

“Hmph.”

With that, the line clicked dead and the monotonous dial tone sang in her ear.  Sighing, Marianne hung up the phone and filed away the numerous ways she’d need to make up this stunt with her sister later on.  Dawn deserved a hell of a lot better, and in hindsight, she should’ve taken that into consideration before she even packed her first bag. 

But all that would have to wait.  She was a ma’am on a mission.      

_Let Operation: ‘Get Me Laid’ commence!_

 


	2. Part II

By the time Marianne ended the call, the sun had completely vanished over the horizon, and when she placed her hand on _The Bog n’ Brew’s_ door handle, the butterflies in her stomach were practically high on caffeine. 

 _Relax, girl, relax!  You can do this.  You_ deserve _this.  Just remember: confidence, confidence, confidence._

Taking a deep breath and releasing it like steam from a pressure valve, she drew her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and slipped into the bar.

She almost laughed out loud as she noticed Aerosmith’s “Back in the Saddle” _coincidently_  playing as she walked into the open room, but she had no time to contemplate the cosmic humor.  The rustic décor of dark wood paneling was cozy and welcoming, and she was already in love with the highway/musician motif.  License plates, hubcaps, records, a few electric guitars, microphones, sheet music, and various road signs were hung all over the walls, along with paintings of cacti, horny toads, rattle snakes, old, rusty gas stations, railroad tracks, and brilliant, star-coated Texas evenings from Route 66’s perfect vantage point. 

On her right was the long, curved bar counter where an elderly, red-haired woman, who she assumed was the sister Plum mentioned, was beaming at her as she fussed with some bottles on the shelves.  In front of her was a space to dance, she supposed, and on the far left was a recreation area where the biker gang she’d seen before were currently entertaining themselves.

The two beefy fellas were playing cards at a table.  They each simply nodded to her and went back to their game.  Over at one of the two billiard tables, shooting pool, Marianne was surprised to find that the couple she’d seen sharing a bike earlier were in fact just that: a couple; giving each other a kiss between turns.

The girl was about her age, chubby, with cropped hair, and a green scarf tied around her neck, but with the spikey jacket, the cigarette between her lips, and her no-nonsense frown, she seemed like the kind of person you didn’t wanna mess with. 

Marianne could relate.

The other half of the pair was a shorter guy who looked......just...absolutely _adorable_ with those thick, round glasses and eager-to-please smile in addition to his biker get-up.  Marianne wondered how _he’d_ ever managed to join the gang, since he appeared to be more like the bookish type.  He gave her a friendly wave when he noticed her, and his girlfriend/opponent neutrally scanned her up and down before throwing a casual salute with two fingers.      

She regarded them both politely, but her focus was immediately drawn to the last member of their group. 

The man she’d previously singled out, was in the middle of a solitary darts game.  He was impressively tall and slim, yet his shoulders were deliciously broad.  From what she could see at her current angle, he had pale skin, which was in stark contrast to his black hair, and his sexy, studded, leather jacket, the back of which was emblazoned with some sort of fanged animal skull wrapped in briar vines and with the word ‘TROUBLE’ etched in fancy lettering across the gaping mouth.

_I sure hope that label isn’t false advertising, buddy._

Whether it was or not, despite the squeak of the hinges and the thump of the door shutting behind her, as well as the knock of her heels against the floor as she walked further into the place, _he_ was the only one who hadn’t so much as _glanced_ in her direction.

Ooo, a challenge!  Well, she certainly liked what she was seeing so far; _especially_ that tight little ass in those ripped blue jeans.

She definitely wanted to check _him_ out further, but she knew she needed to get settled first with some food and a stiff drink.  It’d be hard to flirt if her belly was growling like a hound.  So she moved to the bar.

“Hello there, dear!”  The redheaded woman greeted cheerfully.  “What can I get for ya?”

Marianne semi-paused as she slid into the high stool.  She’d been expecting a Southern drawl, not a Jersey whine. 

“Uh...hey.”  She replied hesitantly.  “I was told by the hotel manager across the street that I could get something to eat here?”

“Oh, ya must be Marianne!”  The bartender exclaimed.  “The girl stayin’ at my sister’s place!  Aura popped in here a few hours ago to tell me ya might come over, but she sure didn’t tell me how _gorgeous_ ya are!”

Marianne flushed as the woman went on.

“I’m Griselda, an' welcome to _The Bog n’ Brew_!  Ya must be _starvin’_!  Well, I don’t mean to brag but, I can whip up pretty damn tasty sandwiches.  What sounds good to ya?  Grilled cheese, BLT, tuna, or beef?” 

“BLT.”  Marianne groaned appreciatively.  “Bacon makes everything better.”

The woman laughed.

“Indeed, it does!  Fries okay with that?”

“Perfect.”

“Wonderful!  I’ll just step into the kitchen an' get that started for ya.  In the meantime, I’ll get my son to make ya a drink.”

For the briefest of seconds, Marianne was confused, until she remembered Aura saying something about her nephew and his friends being the only patrons here tonight. 

_So that means one of these guys is..._

“BOG!  HEY, SWEETIE?”

“ _WHAT_?”

Marianne swiveled in her seat at the sound of the irritated male voice, but was unable to pinpoint the speaker, for no one had stopped their game.

 _Hang on, did she say_ ‘Bog’ _?  As in-?_

“I’M GONNA BE IN THE BACK FOR A BIT!  FIX THIS YOUNG LADY A DRINK, WILL YA?”

Her pulse jumped when she saw her chosen suitor throw his last dart and slump his shoulders with a sigh.

“ALRIGHT, I’M COMIN’!”

She’d always thought that that cliché about everything slowing down when you saw someone you were fiercely attracted to was just a bunch of bull crap...

...until _now_. 

When this...Bog turned around and began walking towards the bar, it was just like in the movies: slow motion, low lighting, sensual music...

No, wait.  _That_ last part was _actually_ Blue Öyster Cult.

_Come on baby, don't fear the reaper_

_Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper_

_We'll be able to fly, don't fear the reaper_

_Baby I'm your man_

As he came closer, gaze downcast, with one hand massaging the back of his neck and the other in his jacket pocket, she could feel her temperature rising.  His face was thin, with sharp, rugged features.  His eyebrows were thick, making his scowl all the more imposing, and God, he even had stubble across his jaw.  He wasn’t Hollywood’s definition of handsome, but Marianne didn’t give a shit about that.  Somehow, she could sense that he was wild, but still safe enough to pursue.  The complete _opposite_ of her worthless ex.  Hell yes, he was _exactly_ what she was looking for! 

This was no pretty-boy. 

This was a _man_.

And _damn_ , did her body _know_ it already!

But when his eyes raised to hers in a double-take, which _might’ve_ been subtle to the casual observer, a bolt of lightning shot straight down her spine as she found herself staring into the most striking pair of electric blue orbs she’d ever (no, NEVER) seen in her whole life! 

She was frozen by the intensity of her desire.  Not even Roland had managed to stoke her fire this much, and she’d dated that asshole for six years!  The most he’d ever gotten out of her was unbridled awe, nothing _close_ to the raw, sensual hunger making her skin tingle and her core quiver.  Was this _normal_? 

Fuck, she _hoped_ so.

Feeling bold, she offered him a coy smile and her ego skyrocketed when she saw him quickly break eye contact as a blush tinted his ears and the bridge of his hooked nose a bright red.

_Bingo!  We got a live one here!_

When he trudged around the end of the bar and approached his mother, the woman (who was barely over half his towering height) grinned up at him and patted his arm before scampering off and vanishing through a small hallway tucked into the far right corner of the room.

 _Bog_ rolled his eyes at her before addressing his patron.

“What are ye thirsty fer, miss?”

Now, Marianne _would’ve_ said something dirty in her head, like: ‘you without pants’, had she not been blindsided by yet _another_ nonlocal accent.  This time, it was _Scottish_ , of all things!  Geez, was she in Texas or a diet version of the Twilight Zone? 

Not wanting to seem rude, she kept her questions to herself for the present and answered him coolly.

“Jack and Coke, please.  Make it a double.”

“Ye got it.”

He made her order like a true expert: fast and beautifully.  Though she had to admit, she was more mesmerized by his long, artistic fingers and what they might be capable of doing in...certain _areas_.

“Thanks.”  She said when he handed her her ice-cold glass, and she made sure to loudly moan in appreciation at the first sip.

Success.  His ears flamed again, but he inadvertently got some payback by clearing his throat and cracking his neck.  She almost started to tremble. 

_Better hurry and break the ice before I melt to the floor._

“So, a Scottish Texan.  What’s the story behind that?”

He blinked as if surprised for a beat, but then chuckled in embarrassment, revealing a row of pleasantly crooked teeth, and Marianne had to force herself not to think about them sinking into the tender flesh of her neck.  She distracted herself with another taste of her drink as he opened a bottle of Lone Star for himself.

“It was ah...m-my father.”  He stammered, which she found unfairly endearing.  “He was born in Edinburgh.”

“Really?”  Marianne leaned closer, not needing to feign her interest.  “But your mother sounds like she’s from the upper East coast.”

“Heh, yeah she uh...she’s from Newark, New Jersey.  She used to go on week-long missionary trips to Scotland through her church.  Apparently, the third time was enough fer my father to get hooked.  On her fourth trip, he asked her to marry him, an’ when she said yes, he came back with her to the states.”

“Then _you_ weren’t actually _born_ in Scotland?”

He shook his head and sipped his beer.

“Nope, I’m a true blue American.  My mom jus’ didnae wanna raise me in the big city, so she an’ my dad _literally_ threw a dart at a US map an’ let that determine where we’d live permanently.”      

Marianne smirked jokingly and glanced back at the dart board. 

“Seems like it runs in the family.”

Her attempt at humor worked.  He laughed pleasantly and she was caught off guard by just how warm and giddy the sound made her feel.  Yet she caught the shakiness in it at the same time, as if it had been ages since he let himself laugh at anything.  It made her eager to know more.

“So if you grew up in the Texas Panhandle, how did you avoid the infamous twang?”

“Again, my father.  His accent was always heavy, an’ he homeschooled me.  I couldnae help pickin’ it up, but...” he propped an elbow on the bar and pretended to tip an invisible Stetson as he changed his accent to an exaggeration of the regional norm, “I reckon I can drop it at any time, ma’am.”

A polite giggle and another gulp from her glass covered her wince at the irritatingly familiar Southern tone she hoped to never hear again as long as she lived. 

“No, please.”  She said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.  “I _like_ your natural accent.  It’s... _soothing_.” 

“...Oh?”  He straightened his stance and coughed awkwardly as he grabbed a rag and needlessly scrubbed at the countertop, staunchly avoiding her eye as he mumbled:  “Th-thank ye.”

The tips of his ears darkened a _third_ time!  She was beginning to wonder how he'd ever brought his biker persona to life if he was so shy. 

_Small town, remember?_

Not that it bothered her.  She was _glad_ to take his ‘thug’-with-a-heart-of-gold self!  It made her all the more keen on getting him out of here and into her motel room.  And besides, she was enjoying their conversation.  He was intriguing in more ways than just the physical.

“I’m Marianne, by the way.”  She added, extending her hand.  “Marianne Faye.” 

He paused in his task and briefly looked back and forth between her face and her friendly gesture of introduction as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but eventually, he made her chest pound by reaching out and grasping her hand firmly in his own much, _much_ larger one.

“Nice to meet ye.  I’m Alan King, but everyone calls me Bog.” 

“I meant to ask you about that.”  Marianne said, cocking her head and nodding towards the front door.  “Bog, as in...?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a breathy chuckle, “as in this bar.  My parents built it an' then named it after me.  Mom says it's cuz I liked to play in mud puddles, but dad told me it’s cuz I was conceived durin’ a vacation in New Orleans.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth he seemed to realize what he’d just said...

...as well as the fact that they were _still_ holding hands!

Until then, Marianne hadn’t thought a human being could turn that shade of scarlet as he instantly released her hand (to her secret dismay), but what made it even worse was the sudden appearance of his mother with _two_ dinner plates!

“Well, I see _you_ two are gettin' along!”  She gushed before shoving her load at Bog.  “Here, honey!  I made ya dinner too.  Now the bar is no place to dine, so why don’t ya take our lovely guest with ya to a table?”

“Mom, I didnae want any-!”

“Nonsense!  Ya haven’t eaten a thing since ya got here!  Honestly, if I wasn’t around to remind ya, ya probably starve yourself to death!   Go on now!  Never keep a lady waitin'!  Put some meat on those skin an' bones o' yours!  Shoo, shoo!” 

Bog huffed in annoyance, but stomped out from behind the bar and led an amused Marianne across the room to one of the empty tables adjacent to the dart board.  She made sure to carry their drinks and try _not_ to notice the curious glances of his biker friends that followed them as they passed. 

“I’m sorry about her.”  Bog said as they took their seats and he passed her her dinner. 

Marianne waved off his concern.

“It’s okay; I don’t mind it.  I actually think it’s kinda sweet.”

“Ye _do_?”

“Mm-hm, my mom......well...she died of cancer when I was twelve so...”

“Oh!  Gosh, I’m......so sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged in gratitude for his sympathy, but the feeling was swiftly replaced by mortification.  Here she was, on a seduction mission, and she brings up her dead mother?! 

_Gee, way to make the poor guy uncomfortable in the worst way possible, you idiot!_

“...We lost my dad...three years ago.”

His confession stunned her, and she stared at him for several moments in silence before squeezing his wrist in understanding.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at her hand, as if amazed again that she wanted to touch him, before his eyes found hers and time stopped.  God, those baby blues needed a warning sign. 

_Danger!  Drowning hazard!_

“It’s alright.”  He sighed as she let him go.  “In a way, I was relieved.  He’d been sick fer a long time an'......well, I couldnae stand to see him in pain anymore.”

Marianne could say nothing in response.  In truth, she was deeply moved that he felt at ease enough to share such a personal tragedy with her.

Or perhaps he was just as socially inept as she was. 

Ah heck, what did it matter anyway?  The _point_ was that he’d eased the tension and given her an avenue to a decidedly less grim topic of conversation. 

“So is it just you and your mom who run the bar now?”  She asked, popping a fry in her mouth. 

“Well, I own half now that my father’s gone,” he explained, starting on his fries as well, “but I can only help out part time, usually on the weekends.  I run an auto shop further up the road with my friends, an' on the side, we all tutor at the high school.”

“What do _you_ tutor?”

“Guitar.”

 _Hmm, so he_ can _use those fingers!  Yay!_

“What about _you_?”

“Huh?”

“What do _you_ do fer a livin’?”

“Oh, um......to be honest...I don’t have a job right now.  Or a home.”

His expression pinched in confusion.

“Why?”

“It’s complicated, but I sort of just...packed all my things and...... _left_.  I needed a big change.”

“Where from?”

“Springfield, Illinois.  Been driving since 2am, and I checked into your aunt’s motel this afternoon.”

“I see.”  Bog said, taking another pull from his Lone Star.  “So, where to now?  Ye off to California or somethin’?”

“Maybe.”  Marianne quipped, sipping her own drink.  “I have no idea.  I finally have the freedom to do whatever I want, so...I guess I’ll just put down roots in whatever new place I feel I belong.  Begin life anew.”

“Wow.”

It was only then that she realized he was watching her with, dare she presume, admiration?

“Doin’ all that by yerself?  Yer one tough girl!”

His description struck a chord within her.  No one had ever called her that before!  He really... _approved_ of her reckless decision?

“I envy yer gumption.”  He continued.  “Couldnae have been an easy choice to make, but I’m sure ye had yer reasons.”

She waited for the flood of probing questions, but they never came.  His respect, purposeful or otherwise, made her subtly shift closer.

“You’re right, I did.  But as for envying me, are you saying you really don’t think _you_ could ever do the same?  Just...hop on your Harley and hit the road?” 

“What are ye kiddin’ me?”  Bog snorted teasingly.  “And leave my kingdom, such as it is, all behind?" 

They snickered together before he took a small bite of his sandwich. 

“Nah.”  He concluded after he’d swallowed.  “I worn’t lie an' say I’ve never wanted to _travel_ , but I’m hap-"

She saw his brow furrow when he cut off the word, but the slip was masked by his gazing around the bar at his buddies and mother. 

“I’m _content_ here.”  He amended.  “I’m needed here.  Good people, good town.  It’s not much in the grand scheme o’ things...but it’s my only world......an’ I luv it.”

Marianne could’ve kissed him right there, and she was shamelessly tempted to, but she knew it wasn’t the best time for that yet, so she occupied her lips with her BLT instead. 

“Oh my _God_!”  She cried at the first mouthful, eyes widening. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Your mother was right: she _does_ make pretty damn tasty sandwiches!” 

 


	3. Part III

“...that’s a 1957 Gibson Les Paul, aaaand _that_ one’s a 1968 Fender Stratocaster, the same kind Jimmi Hendrix played at Woodstock.”

“So cool!”  Marianne said, gazing appreciatively at each suspended guitar Bog pointed out to her around the bar.  “When did you start collecting them?”

“Actually, my mom started it.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yup.  She may’ve been a church goin’ girl, but she knew how to rock.  And my dad had always liked American music, so...”

Grinning, Marianne took another sip of her second Jack and Coke.  By now, the two of them had pleasantly spent the past hour and half just talking and drinking. 

And with each passing minute, the Illinois native was liking her choice more and more.

“Man, I wish _my_ parents were half as cool as _yours_.”  She chuckled.  “My dad thinks any music made past the forties is pure garbage.”  

“Ouch.”

“Tell me about it.  So, did you ever get a chance to play any of them or were they always for display only?”

“Oh _yeah_ , I practiced on all of ‘em at least _once_ growin’ up.  Personally, I think it helps ye learn faster.  Do _you_ play any instruments?”

Marianne snorted.

“Well, I had the obligatory piano lessons as a kid, but that got shut down before I could decide if I hated it or not.”

“How come?”

“Dad felt that my time would be better spent on homework than...basically anything _fun_.”

Bog shook his head in sympathy.

“No wonder ye left.”

“Yeah...it was _one_ of the reasons.”

She saw a spark of genuine, but polite, curiosity in his eyes at her statement.  She’d seen that look several times over the course of their conversation, and his mouth opened partially as if to ask her to clarify, but same as always, he appeared to catch himself and cover by turning his attention back to his Lonestar, ears pink as a rose.   

A flattered smile graced her lips.  She wasn’t used to such gentlemanly respect for her privacy.  Roland had thought he was entitled to know everything from her weight to her credit card number.  The jerk had no respect for boundaries of any kind. 

Of course, _she_ was one to talk about _boundaries_.  What, with her constantly leaning in close to Bog under the guise of not being able to hear him clearly over the music when they spoke, clapping a hand over his arm whenever he made her laugh, or occasionally crossing her legs towards him so her foot would ‘accidentally’ brush against his calf.  She enjoyed watching him flush and stammer.  It endeared him to her, and besides his rugged physical appeal, his voice, dry sense of humor, intelligence, charm, and modesty were all driving her attraction to him to heights she never thought possible. 

How was it that for six years, she’d dated and been engaged to Roland, and yet, even on the best days, had never liked _him_ then as much as she found herself liking Bog now? 

Life could sure be funny that way, she guessed.  So with the ice long broken, she had no qualms about sharing her history. 

“The _main_ one was...I almost got my wagon hitched to someone with an even _worse_ ideology.”   

Bog blinked at her in surprise, obviously not expecting her to say anymore on the subject. 

“...Why?”  He asked with an amount of concern that she thought was very sweet.

“He was hot, and _I_ was young and _stupid_.”

“Oh...”

Something flashed across his face before he quickly fixed his gaze in the tabletop; something like...understanding?  It made her feel brave enough to continue.

“I should’ve seen it coming a mile away.  He was nothing but a shallow, chauvinistic, son of a bitch.  I caught him _cheating_ on me...not even _twenty-four_ hours before we were supposed to get married.”

Bog’s head snapped up at that, and his features contorted with shock and disgust. 

“What a....unbelievable _arsehole_!”

“I know.”

“ _God_ , I’m...I’m so _sorry_!”

“Thanks, but _I’m_ not.” Marianne shrugged, though she was touched by his strong sympathy.  “At least, not anymore.  I think deep down inside I knew he never really loved me; never wanted me......to be...”

“ _You_?”

Caught off guard by his insight, she met his unfairly blue eyes, and though she felt vulnerable, oddly enough, she sensed no judgment whatsoever from him.  A blessing neither her father nor Roland ever bother to bestow. 

Nope.  Every time she messed up, it was _her_ fault.  _Mostly_ , for her dad. _Always_ , for Roland.   

“...Yeah.” 

“But yer so...”

“So...?”

“... _different_!”

Marianne frowned, too accustomed to such a descriptive being used in the negative sense when it came to herself. 

“Yeah, I’ve been told.”  She murmured, taking a generous gulp from her glass.

“That’s what I like about ye!” 

In the beat it took for Marianne to blink at him in astonishment, he seemed to realize his little slip.  His cheeks practically exploded with color and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. 

“I-I mean, uh...” he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, clutching his beer in both hands and glancing anywhere around the room but at her, “...w-well, ye know.”

It was a pity he wasn’t looking at her at that moment.  She wondered just how much _more_ embarrassed he’d be if he saw the rather sultry smirk she was giving him.  It was _very_ nice to know she wasn’t barking up the wrong tree. 

“Wait a minute, now it all makes sense!”  Bog exclaimed, obviously trying to distract her from the awkwardness.  “Ye _killed_ the guy an’ yer on the run, aren’t ye?”

Marianne laughed out loud and once again, gripped his wrist.

“If _only_ that were the case!  Believe you me, I’d like nothing more than to grind him to a bloody pulp and then bury the remains, but I figured just leaving all that crap behind me was a lot less messy.  It definitely was a _rude_ awakening, but I finally saw that my life was on a dead-end road so I had to do something about it...no pun intended.” 

They shared a chuckle and a brief companionable silence before Bog added with a shy grin:

“Well...wherever ye end up goin’...I’m glad ye decided to stop here at least fer awhile.”

It was Marianne’s turn to blush at _his_ comment, and she couldn’t help beaming at him...for more reasons than one.

 _I hope you’ll be even_ more _glad about it before the night is over, big boy._

“Thanks, me too.  ...So if you tutor kids in guitar, what do your friends tutor?”

“Um, well...Brutus, the big guy over there with the buzz-cut,” Bog said, pointing across the bar, “he’s the assistant football coach, and his brother Gus, the other one, he tutors in Geography.  And the couple at the pool table, that’s Steph and her boyfriend, Theo.  Theo tutors English, and Steph tutors Biology.”

“That’s cool.  Did you guys all grow up here together?”

“All except Theo.  He was born in Oklahoma, and he came over senior year.  We still like to tease him about it sometimes.”  Bog winked.

“Senior year?  I thought you said you were homeschooled.”

“Only until I was fifteen.  Then my mom put her foot down and insisted that I go to high school and _socialize_.”

“That must’ve been an ordeal.”

“Oh, yeah.  Bein’ a homeschooled kid from the upper east coast with a funny foreign accent?  It was hell.  Brutus actually tried to beat me up after a few weeks, but thankfully my dad got into quite a few pub fights in his day, so he taught be a lot more than just readin’, writin’, and darts.”

“You saying you _fought_ him?”

“I wiped the gym _floor_ with him.”  Bog snickered.  “Been best friends ever since.”

Marianne shook her head with a giggle.

“Do you guys always come here to pass the time?”

“Ususally.”  Bog replied with a nod.  “You should see this place on a Saturday night.  Honestly, there’s not much else to do for recreation in this town, but at least when we come here on the weeknights it helps business even though it’s not busy, plus we can get to our games right away.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you earlier.”

“Huh?”

“When I came in.”  Marianne explained, wincing sheepishly.  “You were playing darts until your mom made you come over and serve me my drink.”

“Oh; dorn’t worry, it was no problem.”  Bog dismissed, before perking a bit.  “H-have ye, uh...ever played darts before?”

“No, closest thing I ever did was go bow hunting with my cousins a few years ago...” 

She almost let the sentence go, before her genius mind screamed at her what a golden opportunity Bog had just inadvertently presented.

“...but I wouldn’t mind _learning_.”

Bog stared at her for a second, eyes shining with amazement.  It made her warm inside to know that she’d pleased him.

“Really?  O-okay.  Ye should pick it up pretty fast then.  It’s more or less the same concept as huntin’ with a bow; just aim and shoot.”

With almost boyish enthusiasm, Bog rose from the table and Marianne allowed him to lead her over to the dart board’s toe-line, which was a cut of red duct tape on the floor about seven to eight feet from the wall.

“My favorite game o’ darts is called ‘501 and up’.”  He said as he plucked the six darts from the cork.  “Ever heard of it?”

“Nope; how do we play?”

“Well, basically we each start out with 501 points, and the goal is to be the first one to get down to 0.  See these numbers along the rim?”

“Yeah.”

“If yer dart hits the black or tan areas between the rings, ye just deduct the exact number that corresponds to that spot.  Now, if ye hit the red or the green in the rings, ye multiply the number by two fer the inner ring, or by three fer the outer ring.  Does that make sense?”

“I think so.  What about the bullseye?”

“If ye hit red, that’s dead center, and it’s worth 50 points; if ye hit the green, just off center, then it’s 25.”

“Got it.”

“Great!”  Bog smiled as he jogged up to her and handed over her three darts of the six. “Do ye wanna go first?”

“Nah, _you_ should go first.  It’ll help me remember the rules.”

“Alright.”

Moving to the side to give him room, Marianne frowned in confusion when, instead of stepping to the toe-line, Bog slid back a foot or two.

“Sorry,” he grimaced as he lined up his shot, “I’m so freakishly tall I have to stand farther away to be fair.”

“Mm, I’d say you have more of an ‘attractive altitude’.” 

She’d meant for that to be innocent...okay, no not really, but she _vastly_ enjoyed his reaction: stumbling as he threw the dart so it hit the black area between the rings (three points) and then trying to cover it with a series of coughs.

Though he unknowingly got his revenge by cracking his neck before throwing his next dart. 

_Stupid, sexy, cockroach man!_

Ultimately, Bog earned a total of 87 points on his full initial turn, leaving him with 413 more to go.  By then, Marianne had advanced her game plan...which incidentally, had little to do with their actual game.

“It’s been a long time since that bow hunting trip.”  She noted as she took her place at the toe-line.  “And since I’ve never played darts in my life, I might need your pro expertise.”

Batting her eyelashes, she looked over her shoulder and coyly tilted her head at him.

“Show me?”

Boy, she wished she’d brought a camera!  She’d never seen a man so adorably flustered!  His throat bobbed as he clumsily shuffled towards her on trembling knees. 

“Erm, ah...I-I-I’m no pro.  I just play fer fun, but uh...are ye left handed or right handed?” 

“Right handed.”

“O-okay then, y-yer gonna wanna get as close as ye can to the oche.”

“The oche?”

“The...the toe-line.”

“Oh.”

Marianne did as he instructed, and pointed her right foot directly at the wall displaying the dart board.

“This good?”

“Um y-yes, but...ye should set yer right foot at a bit more of an angle, and counter with yer left.”

“How exactly?”

“W-well, ye...ye...” Bog stuttered before appearing to give in to some internal battle, “...oh, I’ll...I’ll show ye.”

It wasn’t easy for Marianne to hide her smirk as Bog approached her and carefully nudged his right foot against her own, guiding it to about a 135 degree angle while keeping her toes on the _oche_. 

“Put most o’ y-yer weight on yer r-right leg and then ye can use yer left leg f-fer balance.”

At this point, Bog had to get closer so he could gently push her left foot behind her, angling it properly.  He seemed to be doing his damnedest not to touch her any more than necessary, a problem Marianne was hoping to fix toot sweet. 

 _Holy hell, does he have big feet!  And you know what they say about_ that _..._

“N-now ye wanna rise up on the toes o’ yer left f-foot.”

_And there’s my opening!_

Immediately, Marianne rose as he told her to and straightened her back, molding herself against Bog’s front.  She could’ve squealed when he froze and she heard his quiet gasp, if she hadn’t had to swallow a scandalous moan at the scent and feeling of his hard, lean body.  God, he smelled _divine_!  Like a summer campfire and mint! 

“Like this?”  She purred once she got her bearings.

 “...Aye......l-like...like _that_.”

His enchanted voice rumbled like thunder against her spine, making her eyes flutter.  She took a deep, but subtle breath to gather her wits.

_Steady girl.  You need to be in control for this to work, remember?_

“So, what’s the significance of this stance?”  Marianne questioned in an attempt to distract from her own arousal.  

“Ah...it-it-it m-makes fer a smoother th-throw.”  Bog managed to say through faltering speech as he hesitantly cupped her bare shoulders and steered her twice in a sort of mild quarter twist from right to left; the way her hips and torso would naturally move if when she’s throw the dart, but with her feet planted as such, she felt far more secure in her balance.   

Once he’d finished his demonstration, Bog released her shoulders and tapped her right arm.  Her tingling skin already missed the contact.    

“Alright, er...now ye can just aim and......f-fire when ready, Tough Girl.” 

Before he could step away, Marianne swiftly lined up her shot and launched her first dart at the board, where it landed in black for 20 points.  She instantly followed up with hitting 15’s middle ring; 30 points.

For her grand finale, she boldly pressed herself more firmly against Bog, aimed, and let it fly.  The last dart whizzed through the air and stabbed its intended target.

_Bullseye._

.

.

.

Time seemed to gradually cease as her first round victory sank in.  Ever so slowly, Marianne turned her head to meet Bog’s enamored and electric gaze.  His 6’4” height made craning her neck a necessity, but she didn’t care.  His blatant captivation was well worth it!    

Though she hadn’t quite been prepared for the rush of heat over her flesh, the dissolve of all sound around them, nor the rapid slamming of her heart in her ribcage. 

“That’s 50 points.”  She whispered.  “100 total.”

“...Yeah,” Bog breathlessly agreed, eyes flickering all over her face, mostly back and forth between her eyes and lips. 

The latter of which were merely a _breath_ apart!

“401 to go.”

“Yer _winnin’_.”

Jesus H. Christ, she prayed he got the double entendre!  Chest thumping and burning, she gave him the silent hint of acceptance and glanced at his own thin, scarred lips before she leaned towards him, and thank the Maker, he mirrored her!   

“Ahem!”

As if someone popped a huge balloon, Marianne and Bog both jumped away from each other in alarm.  Whirling around, they were met by a crowd of four people, all watching them with somewhat smug expressions.  They were Bog’s gang, apparently unable to resist their curiosity any longer. 

“I do hope we’re not _intruding_?”  Steph asked, crossing her arms and quirking her brow. 

“N-no!”  Bog spluttered, although he did scowl pretty fiercely at his friends.  “No, of course not.”

Marianne would be lying if she claimed to not be equally as miffed by the interruption, but in truth, she _was_ interested in meeting his buddies.  To be frank, if it wasn’t for their open and secretively amused auras, they would’ve made a decidedly intimidating bunch.  Including Bog, their steel-toed boots, ripped jeans, spikey leather jackets, and tats were _not_ the marks of people that took any shit. 

There was a short, awkward pause as everyone just gawked. 

“Ya gonna introduce us to yer new lady-friend there, Bog?”  Brutus prompted with humor in his dark eyes as he gestured towards Marianne. 

Bog flinched as if he was snapped back to his senses. 

“Uh, s-sure...everyone, this is Marianne, from Springfield, Illinois; she’s stayin’ at Aunt Plum's Inn.  I already told her all _yer_ names.”

Steph quirked her brow at that.

“Ya did, did ya?”

Bog ignored her. 

“Marianne, this is everyone.”

“Hi!”  Marianne greeted with a polite wave.  “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Hello!”  Theo returned with a wide, friendly smile as he shook her hand.  “Welcome to Texas!”

“Thank you, Theo.  It’s a beautiful state.”

“Sure is, one of the reasons I moved here.  I’m from Oklahoma myself.”

“I know; Bog told me.”

Bog’s gang exchanged a look and Steph gave Bog a tiny, knowing grin. 

“Yer awfully _talkative_ tonight, aren’t ya, Bog?

When Steph’s only answer was an annoyed grunt, Marianne saw the female biker shift her focus over to her.  She was given a head to toe scan before Steph deemed her worthy with a shrug, and a twitch at the corner of her lips. 

“What’s happenin’, Springfield?”

“Not much.”  Marianne responded casually, before cocking her head at the pool table.  “Did you win?”

“Of course.”

Marianne smirked at her.

“Attagirl.”

Steph chuckled and gave Bog a thumbs up in approval.

“I like her.”

“Howdy there, ma’am!”  Gus said next, extending his hand which Marianne took.  “We’re pleased to have ya here in Groom!”

“ _I’ll_ say we are!”  Brutus cut in, swiping Marianne’s hand to place a kiss on her knuckles.  “But what’s a lovely young woman such as yerself doin’ hangin’ out with this old stick?”

Ordinarily, this stereotypically teasing ‘southern gentleman’ behavior would’ve set Marianne’s teeth on edge, but unlike with Roland, she could sense that Brutus was harmless.  Like a beardless, youthful, and _flirty_ Santa Claus. 

“Yer a _riot_ , Brutus.”  Bog grumbled.

“Oh, we’re just playing a game of darts.”  Marianne stated, extracting herself from Brutus to rejoin Bog’s side.  “Or rather, Bog’s _teaching_ me how to play a game of darts.”

“Booooring!”  Steph groaned, entwining their fingers with Theo’s, before suggesting something that Marianne distinctly noticed made Bog go pale, then _scarlet_ : 

“Come on, guys, let’s do something _really_ fun!  Let’s _dance_!”


	4. Part IV

Truth be told, Marianne was rather indifferent to the whole prospect of dancing in and of itself.  The only thing that made it appealing _this_ go ‘round was the multiple possibilities it opened up in terms of seducing Bog. 

That is, assuming he’d _agree_ to it.

“Yeah, let’s!”  Theo exclaimed at his girlfriend’s suggestion as he slipped an arm around her plump waist.  “We haven’t danced in a _long_ while, babe!”

But Bog just frowned.

“I dorn’t _dance_ , Steph.”

“Just cuz ya _don’t_ doesn’t mean ya _can’t_!” Steph returned nonchalantly.  “Normally, I wouldn’t care if ya sat yer grumpy ass down all night, but this time ya _have_ to!”

Her hazel eyes suddenly seemed to mischievously twinkle at Bog, and Marianne could’ve sworn she saw him stiffen.

“Ya have an outta state guest!  Come on, let’s treat her!” Steph went on, already moving with Theo towards the open dance space in front of the bar.  “Show her the Texas Two-step!”

When Bog didn’t immediately move nor respond, Marianne was momentarily startled to find Brutus sideling up to her.

“Well hey, if _you_ don’t _want_ to, Bog,” he said with mock-innocence, “ _I’d_ be _more_ than happy to-”

A thrill raced through Marianne when Bog’s arm instantly shot out and wrapped itself around her shoulders, guiding her back to their table.

“No _thank_ ye, _Brutus_.”  She heard him practically snarl back at his chortling friend. 

When they reached their table, she thought Bog was about to plop down and nurse his beer again, that is, until he flinched when Steph’s voice barked at them from across the room. 

“Come _on_ , you two!  Get _over_ here!"

Marianne bit her lip to keep from giggling as Bog heaved a deep sigh and sent her an apologetic look. 

“Do ye mind?  Steph worn’t leave us alone until she gets her way.”

“Not at all.”

As she picked up her clutch, she both heard and saw Bog gulp, but it was only when she boldly took his hand and began leading him to the makeshift dance floor that he blushed again.  Not that she could blame him, though.  _Her_ face sure felt too hot to _not_ be beet red, and her stomach was doing somersaults as she registered the touch of his long, calloused fingers entwined with her own. 

“You do _remember_ how to do the Texas Two-step, right Bog?”  Steph teased once the couple were close enough. 

“We dorn’t play country music in here,” Bog snapped, “ye know that!”

“Ah, it don’t matter what genre ya use, we just need a good beat!”  Theo dismissed, before glancing over his shoulder at Griselda.  "Griselda, would you-?”

“I’m on it!”  The old bartender enthusiastically replied, and boy, _was_ she!  

Faster than a woman her age should’ve been able to move, she skittered around the bar to the opposite end of the room where the colorful jukebox was situated. 

“Do ye dance much?”  Bog asked as his mother fiddled with the machine.

Marianne shrugged and deposited her clutch on the closest bar stool.

“I went to _way_ too many disco clubs in college.  Does that count?”

Her attempt at humor earned her a shy chuckle from Bog...

...and then he reached for her. 

Despite her racing heart and bated breath, Marianne watched Bog’s throat bob again as he moved her left hand and guided it up onto his right arm, just between the shoulder and the bicep.  His right hand planted itself firmly over her left shoulder blade, way too high for her perverted liking, but she could bide her time a bit longer.  Lastly, Bog took her right hand in his shaking fingers and held it comfortably aloft.   

“Okay, it’s pr-pretty easy.” He stuttered, cheeks aflame.  “Ye just take two quick steps, then two s-slow steps.  We go counterclockwise; I’ll start with m-my left foot, so ye’ll step back with y-yer right.  Got it?”

“Mm-hmm, I got it.”

Exactly on cue, the smooth, melodic chords of the Rolling Stones’ “Beast of Burden” began to drift forth from the jukebox. 

“Alright,” Bog said, drawing himself up to his full height, “here we go...”

Until then, Marianne had never really believed that dancing was ‘all in the leading’, but Bog sure as hell seemed to know what he was doing, effortlessly gliding with her in circles around the room, and easily covering up her initial stumbles as she tried to get comfortable with the rhythm.  Roland would’ve stopped and started all over again at every mistake, embarrassing her and ruining the whole experience, but not Bog.  If he noticed her faltering, he didn’t show it at all.  He just kept right on dancing to cover it up and forget, not letting her feel stupid or clumsy for even a moment.

It made her _glad_ to follow _anywhere_ he led.  

The Lone Star State-famous dance was actually pretty simple once she got the hang of it, but since it didn’t allow for intimate proximity, Marianne knew she’d have to get creative if she wanted to keep Operation: ‘Get Me Laid’ at full steam.

_What to do?  What to **do**???_

Probably best to just work with what little physical contact there was, for a start.

 _I'll never be your beast of burden_  
_My back is broad but it's a hurting_  
_All I want is for you to make love to me_

Keeping it as casual and subtle as possible, Marianne began to move her left thumb back and forth, massaging the firm muscle in Bog’s leather-clad right arm.  Simultaneously, the fingers of her right hand would gently squeeze and stroke his left at random. 

His reaction thrilled her to the bone: his thin lips parted as both the volume and pace of his breathing picked up, resulting in his broad chest noticeably rising and falling, his arms twitched and trembled, and once again, all the blood rushed to his ears. 

It was a brilliant maneuver, but the only backlash was the growing intensity of Marianne’s arousal at seeing what an effect she was having on the poor, sexy specimen of a man.  His bright eyes flickered frantically around the bar, apparently determined _not_ to meet hers, but alas, it was a losing battle. 

When they finally landed on hers, there was an abrupt shift in the atmosphere.  Swathed in those soothing and innocent orbs of ocean blue, her lusty temperature spiked nearly out of control, but so did her affection for him as a person.  

She liked him.

A _lot_.

Like a _hell_ of a lot!

And that fact alone made her decide that it was time to be honest with him; give him a chance to back out if he wasn’t alright with her intentions.

 _I'll never be your beast of burden_  
_I've walked for miles my feet are hurting_  
_All I want is for you to make love to me_

“Level with me, Bog.”  She said then.  “A great guy like you _has_ to have a girlfriend or something, right?”

It might’ve been prying, but the information was vital.  After what she’d been through, she _refused_ to be the other woman.

“Great guy?”  Bog blinked at her in confusion, as if he couldn’t fathom that she was referring to _him_ , before ducking his head in embarrassment.  “Ah, n-no.  No, I dorn’t.  I tried all that stuff before, an’......one time I thought it was serious but...”

“...But?”

“But she thought I was too hideous.”

A giggling snort came out before Marianne could stop it.  It was extremely rude to laugh, somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that, and had she not been drinking, she definitely _wouldn’t_ have.  If anyone knew all about getting their heart broken, it was her, but the idea that some random idiot would call _this_ man ‘hideous’, when she herself was about two seconds away from panting for him like a dog in heat, was just so utterly ridiculous, she couldn’t help it. 

“Oh my God,” she continued to snicker, “ _please_ tell me you don’t believe that!”

Bog looked rightfully offended by her amusement.  Thought he didn’t verbally answer her, it was painfully obvious that he did believe it.  The tension around his mouth and the lightning flash of anger in his eyes were quick to sober her up just enough to explain her point of view.  She couldn’t allow him to go on having such a criminally low opinion of himself.  No way, Jose!

 _Am I hard enough_  
_Am I rough enough_  
_Am I rich enough_  
_I'm not too blind to see_

“Bog, you are many things: polite, sweet, interesting.  But _hideous_?  Psh!  Take it from me, there is absolutely _nothing_ hideous about _you_.  Inside...or _out_.” 

On the last word, she deliberately dropped her voice into the lower register and her gaze was steady and smoldering.  In turn, flushed and thunderstruck were the most accurate adjectives to describe Bog’s expression.  His movements slowed to almost complete stillness and when she saw his eyes light with awe, Marianne’s chest nearly burst with emotion. 

The Bog n’ Brew melted away to nothing.  The song echoed as if in a great, black cave.  Her flesh was electric, deliciously burning where they touched.  Unable to deny the pull any longer, she bravely reached up and teasingly trailed her left fingertips along the hard line of his jaw, relishing in the soft bite of his stubble against her skin. 

 _I'll never be your beast of burden_  
_So let's go home and draw the curtains_  
_Music on the radio_  
_Come on baby make sweet love to me_

Bog’s eyes instantly fluttered at the contact, he held her tighter, and the loud, shuddering breath he released pooled liquid heat in her belly and made her knees quiver. 

At last, her message was clear, and so was his:

_Desire._

Yes!  Everything was _perfect_...

.

.

.

...until she heard a horrible twang that froze every drop of blood in her veins.

“ _There_ ya are, _buttercup_!”

With painful abruptness, their surroundings came back and they ceased dancing.  Bog let her go and stepped away.  In slow, horror movie motion, Marianne turned to behold the bane of her existence striding towards her from the front door, in all his blonde, pompous, douchebag glory!

Roland.

_No..._

_No, no, no, no, no._

**_NO!!!_ **

Marianne knew there was no denying what she was seeing with her own two eyes, but somehow it was still failing to process. Dawn had warned her, and she’d foolishly brushed it off, but there he was!  In one of his god-awful flowery shirts, bell-bottomed pants, and white, pristine loafers!

Was he insane, or just stupid?  Or both?!  She loathed him!  She’d told him so, _and_ threatened him with severe bodily harm if he ever came near her again!  And yet he’d driven twelve and a half hours down Route 66 to find her?

…It was  _impossible_!

Roland had never done anything in his whole goddamn  _life_  for twelve and half straight hours!  

…Except maybe look in a  _mirror_ …

Thank Christ, eventually her mind caught up with her mouth.

“W-what...the _fuck_...are you _doing_ here, Roland?”  She angrily spluttered through grit teeth. 

“Marianne, darlin’, now don’t be like that!”  Her ex drawled, coming to a wise stop a safe few feet away.  “I’ve been worried _sick_ about ya!  Dawn was so upset, she sent me after ya!”

“Bullshit!”  Marianne spat.  “I called Dawn when I got here.  She didn’t _send_ you, she just _told_ you I left!” 

Roland shrugged, smirking at her in that pitying way that made her want to run him over with a truck. 

“Well, what does it matter anyway, darlin’?  The point is it _worked_!”

 _That_ sure gave Marianne pause.  What was he talking about?

“Worked?”  She parroted.  “ _What_ worked?”

“This little stunt ya pulled, sweetheart; runnin’ off just to get my attention.  Well, I’m here to take ya home, Marianne, ‘cause I still love ya with all my heart!”

Marianne gaped at Roland, too floored to speak, but not surprised in the least.  Of course, he would turn this whole situation around to make it all about _him_!  His arrogance truly knew no bounds.  Gradually, her astonishment morphed into rage.  Her fists clenched and her shoulders hunched, ready for an explosion...

...that is, until she felt a large, warm hand on the small of her back.

_Bog!_

The soothing contact brought her fury down to a more manageable simmer, and she leaned into him, _so_ grateful that he was able to read her distress and stay beside her rather than retreat from this unwelcome drama of her past. 

“Is that the guy?”  Bog needlessly muttered, low enough for only her ears to hear.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Focusing on Bog’s presence, Marianne took a deep breath to calm herself further and put things back in perspective.  What the hell was she wasting time on this for?  Roland was nothing now!  Not even a speck of mud on her boots!  She had plans for the evening, and she’d be _damned_ to hell if _he_ was going to get in her way!

Leveling her glare, Marianne gave the blonde asshole the coldest of smiles.

“Roland, I know it’s _incredibly_ difficult for you to get...well, _anything_ through that _enormous_ powder-puff you call a head, but try; _reeeally_ try this time: We. Are. Done.  You cheated on me; _repeatedly_.  I wouldn’t so much as _spit_ on you if you were on _fire_!  Now, do everyone here a favor, and get lost.  I’m _busy_.”

To emphasize, she began to move towards Bog again, but she should’ve known Roland, the ever-persistent bastard, wasn’t going to give up so easily.

“Come on, Marianne,” he pressed, “enough is enough!  Surely ya realize how foolish it was to just up an’ leave without sayin’ anythin’ to even yer family?!  An' do ya honestly expect me to believe that yer willin’ to give up her yer nice home an' job fer _this_ piss-water town?”

“What’d ye say?!”  Bog growled then, taking a single threatening step in Roland’s direction. 

As if just noticing him, Roland sized up the other man, and though Marianne recognized the wariness in his eyes, he didn’t retreat.  Instead his lips curled into a haughty sneer.

“Ya heard me, stick bug!”

What happened next was a true testament to how self-absorbed Roland actually was.  Apparently, he was so focused on getting Marianne to leave with him, that he hadn’t properly scanned the room and registered the fact that there was more than one local present. 

At the insult, Marianne was distracted from her defensive wrath by the sharp sound of chairs scraping the floor, signaling that Brutus and Gus had overheard the conversation and were more than willing to gang up with their leader.  Glancing over her shoulder, Marianne saw Theo and Steph flanking herself and Bog.  Even _Griselda_ was stone still and scowling darkly at their new guest from behind the bar. 

They were all, in a word, terrifying, and Roland knew it!  He blanched and hissed frantically at Marianne.

“Marianne, seriously, let’s go!  Can’t ya see this place is full o’ dangerous thugs?!”

Marianne scoffed.

“Dangerous to _you_.  Now for the last time, Roland: get _outta_ here!  And if you talk to Bog that way again,” she snarled in warning, “I swear, I’ll beat the _shit_ outta you!”  

“ _Bog_?  What kinda hideous name is _that_?”  Roland asked, before eyeing said name's owner again in disgust.  “Not that it ain’t _fittin’_.”

She warned him.  In a split second, Marianne saw red and her fist flew at Roland’s smug face.  Sadly, her consumption of two double Jack and Cokes earlier had left her just sluggish enough for Roland to duck.  The unexpected momentum made her awkwardly half-spin on her heel, sending her punch directly into another target.

Bog’s right cheek.

The impact sent Bog sprawling backwards into the bar stools, knocking them askew as he slumped against the counter.

“Bog!”  Marianne cried, rushing to him and fluttering her hands around in a panic.  “Oh my God, Bog, I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry!  Are you _okay_?!”

_Fuck, fuck, **fuck**!  Please don’t let this all be ruined!!!_

But Bog didn’t seem the least bit pissed.  Stunned, he rubbed his jaw to ensure it wasn’t broken and then stared at Marianne with a mixture of wonder and...was that _lust_?

“Wow.”  He breathed, and Marianne could’ve jumped him right then and there, were it not for-

“Tch, what a _pussy_!”  Roland mocked.  “Gettin’ hit by a g-!”

She didn’t allow him to finish that sentence.  This time, Marianne’s aim was dead on, and Roland fell flat on his ass, blood already pouring from his smashed nose.  The following chorus of cheers and laughter was invigorating, but Marianne’s concern was solely for Bog. 

She whirled around to tend to him again, but his face was even more reverent than before, if that was even possible!

“ _Wow_.”  He repeated, and like magic, the last shred of Marianne’s patience was launched out the window and into the stratosphere. 

Snatching her purse and seizing Bog by the wrist, Marianne hauled him upright and dragged him around the heap of her ex-fiancé on the floor.

“Have a good time, Bog honey!”  She heard Griselda call as they approached the door.  “And consider your drinks on the house, missy!”

“MARIANNE!”  Roland shouted.  “MARIANNE, WAIT-!”

“Where ya goin’, city boy?”

“Yeah, we’ll show ya how to have some _real_ fun in our ‘piss-water’ town!”

Bursting out of the _Bog n’ Brew_ , but without breaking her pace, Marianne looked back through the swinging door just in time to see the rest of Bog’s cackling friends swarming around Roland, grabbing at his helplessly flailing limbs. 

Grinning, she faced forward once more, pulling Bog at a full sprint along with her past Roland’s green Camaro, and across the quiet, empty highway beneath an ocean of stars, straight up to the Orb Inn.  When they reached her door, it took some expert maneuvering, for she was adamant on _not_ letting go of Bog, but regardless, she managed to whip out her room key from her clutch with one hand in record time. 

When the lock clicked, Marianne all but shoved Bog into the room, which was bathed in a rather romantic bluish light from the bar’s neon sign filtering in through the blinds.  Only then did she release Bog so she could toss her key and purse to the floor and dead bolt the door. 

But before she could do anything else, she was caught off guard by a distant, but very demanding noise. 

Peeking through the window, she could make out the forms of Bog’s gang coming outside into the parking lot, whooping and hollering as if it was the 4th of July.  The best part of it all was that Roland was clearly bound and hoisted over Brutus’s massive shoulder like a bag of sand.  No matter how much he thrashed, he was no match for his bonds, nor the giant biker’s size and vastly superior strength. 

Biting her lip to contain her glee, she watched as Brutus unceremoniously stuffed Roland into the backseat of his own car just as Theo slid behind the wheel and started the engine.  They must’ve stolen the keys!

The rest of the group then hurried to their respective motorcycles, revved up, and followed the Camaro as it peeled out onto the road, heading west and leaving nothing but dust and echoes in their wake. 

 _Bless each and every one of you guys!_ She thought happily before turning to face her quarry. 

“Now,” she purred, “where were we?”


	5. Part V

Marianne could’ve choked on her own excitement permeating the atmosphere of her tiny motel room.  Every nerve ending was alive, making her skin tingle from head to foot.  Her heart was pounding so loud, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Bog could hear it.  She chewed her lips as she stared at him. 

Bathed in shadows, just beyond the reach of the blue neon bar light, Bog was equally gaping at her.  He had backed himself into the little corner made from the wall and dresser opposite the bed.  And not to be cliché but, he truly _did_ look like a deer in headlights: all limbs and wide eyes. 

_Adorable._

It made the Big Bad _she_ -Wolf in her even _hungrier_. 

Smirking, she sauntered towards him, purposefully swaying her hips, and when she saw him gulp, she went in for the kill.  

Reaching inside his leather jacket, she placed both hands against his flat stomach and slipped them up to his chest, rejoicing in the distinct hitch in both his breath and the deliciously toned muscles she could feel through his dark grey t-shirt.  The rapid staccato under her right palm spurred her on even further, so without wasting another second, she stood on her toes, locked her fingers behind his neck and _finally_ kissed him full on the mouth.   

Holy hell, did her first taste of him set her insides ablaze!  The contrasting sensations were exquisite!  Such soft lips surrounded by prickly stubble.  His shy, hesitant responses to her, despite the raw strength she sensed in the hard lines of his body as she stepped closer, pressing her front to his.  Did he have any _idea_ what he was doing to her?!

Bog made a helpless noise and his hands fell gently on her shoulders, not clutching at her, but not pushing her away either.  Marianne didn’t give it a thought.  She was practically all over him, and in keeping with her plan from the start, she certainly had no qualms about taking the lead.

Case in point, she chose that moment to coax his mouth open and slide her tongue against his, just as her hand crept down his torso to the bulge just now stirring to life in his jeans.  

“M-M-Marianne...”  Bog croaked and she hummed in reply.

Then she smoothly cupped him, and _he_ nearly jumped a foot.

“Marianne!”  He gasped, breaking their lip contact and seizing both of her wrists.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

Initially, Marianne was a tad dazed and confused by the abrupt halt of action, but as Bog tugged her hands away from him and she got a load of his abashed face, she felt the blood rush to her own cheeks. 

She felt naked, and not in the good way she’d been anticipating.  Had she completely misread him?  God, she hoped not, or else this would the most embarrassing moment of her entire life! 

Cautiously, she moved back just enough to give him the space he seemed to want, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“What’s wrong?”  She asked.

Bog didn’t answer her at first.  He dropped her hands as well as his gaze, and scratched behind his ear, mouth twisted into a rather pensive expression, as if he was searching for the words.

“It’s...it’s okay, Tough Girl.”  He calmly said after a lengthy, uncomfortable minute.  “...I get it.”

Marianne frowned at him.

“Get _what_?”

“What’s goin’ on here.”

“Um...I don’t think you _do_ if you’re _stopping_ me.” 

“Ye were jus’ tryin’ to make a point to yer ex-boyfriend, an’ I dorn’t blame ye.  But...he’s gone now, so......ye dorn’t have to pretend anymore.”

.

.

.

Until then, Marianne had never known the reality of being struck speechless.  She stupidly blinked at Bog with her mouth open, hardly able to process his ridiculous statement.

Off the bat, she was angry, because it all came back to Roland!  If that piece of human shit scum hadn’t shown up, there’d be decidedly _less_ talking, and more _humping_ right now.  That bastard just had to throw a wrench into everything! 

But her fury was quick to dissolve into pure bafflement. 

Vaguely, she wondered just what exactly that woman Bog mentioned earlier had done to him to make him _this_ insecure.  All evening, she’d flirted with him, touched him, danced with him, and now that she’d dragged him into her motel room and made out with him, he _still_ had doubts about her intentions?

What did she have to do?  Punch him again?

_Might not be a bad idea.  I mean, did you SEE the way he looked at you when-?_

_No, NO!  We are DONE with the violence tonight!!!_

What she needed to do, was convince him that this had _nothing_ at _all_ to do with Roland. 

This was all about the two of _them_ ; end of story.

“Bog, if you _seriously_ think that _any_ part of me is _pretending_ , then you really need to pay better attention.”

Bog gave her a pitiful look.

“But Marianne, y-yer so...so...yer so _gorgeou_ s an’ _amazin_ ’...an’ I’m...I-I’m just-”

Marianne held up a finger to cut him off.  From then on, she officially would allow no more of that nonsense about him being hideous.

“Okay,” she explained, once he was silent, “let me put this in terms you should understand, Bog: Imagine you’re a dartboard, and I’ve got a dart in my hand.  I’ve been aiming for _you_ all evening; since the first second I saw you going into the bar.  Only _you_.”

To emphasize her claim (and metaphor), Marianne returned to him, draping her hands on his stuttering chest, and deliberately brushing her hips against the now _very_ prominent hard-on straining below his belt buckle; a simple silver plate with a woven bronze embellishment and a single amber stone in the middle. 

When Bog’s immediate reaction was a breathy, muttered curse accompanied by fluttering eyelids, Marianne grinned in victory and whispered barely a half-inch away from his lips:

“Bullseye.”

He gave in with a groan, allowing her to kiss him again with fervor.  Her mouth parted almost instantly, guiding him to do the same so she could tease his tongue with her own.    

She didn’t know if it was the alcohol, or just the fact that Bog was uncharted territory, but kissing him was _incredible_!  His mouth was so hot and rich, it made her toes curl.  Where there was no stubble tickling her chin, his soft, cool skin made her clasp him tighter, desperate to feel more of it! 

He was responsive, yet cautious.  Never taking the initiative, only more or less mirroring her advances.  But he was like an (almost literal) matchstick playing with a case of dynamite; blissfully unaware of just how passionate Marianne truly was for him, and the spark was about to ignite.  Hesitantly, as if she might vanish like a soap bubble, he settled his hands on her waist, sighing his whole acceptance into her lips. 

Kaboom.

With a quiet, feral hiss, Marianne tore her mouth away from Bog and attacked his neck.  His pulse raced against her tongue as she bit and suckled his flesh raw, leaving her unique marks of possession in her wake: splotchy, pink, and rimmed with the slight purple residue of her lipstick. 

As her mouth distracted him, her hand returned to its previous destination.  She enthusiastically massaged his clothed erection, making him flinch and dig his fingers deeper into the small of her back, unknowingly spurring her on. 

Much to his blatant shock, she then knelt to the floor before him, kissing his chest and abs all the way down, and without breaking eye-contact, she deftly undid his buckle and the front of his jeans.  She heard his muted hum of relief at the ease of pressure on his cock. 

Carefully, Marianne shimmied his pants and black boxer-briefs just low enough to expose him and all his glory to her ravenous appraisal. 

Oh, how her cheeks flamed and she salivated at the _sight_ of him!  She almost laughed, remembering all of Roland’s flexing and posturing, as if he was God’s gift to women.  What a joke!

Because compared to Bog, Roland had absolutely _NOTHING_ to brag about.

He wasn’t huge enough to scare her, but she was certain that every female member of her lineage since the beginning of time were giving her two thumbs up from beyond the grave. 

Still, Marianne paused, feeling suddenly self-conscious.  Until now, the only man she’d ever been physical with was Roland, for six long years.  And here she was, about to take that frightening leap and explore someone new, as well as reveal herself to him.  What if he didn’t like what she had to offer?  What if he didn’t enjoy it?  What if she was lousy and didn’t please him?

She clenched her fists.

_Deep breaths, girl.  Deep breaths.  You got this.  You are sexy, you are skilled, you want him, and he wants you.  That’s all that matters._

Squaring her shoulders, Marianne tenderly gripped him and placed a single, reverent kiss upon the swollen head, which was already leaking a bead or two of pearly white pre-cum.  Her eyes drifted closed as she continued to tentatively lick nearly every inch of him.  She heard a thump, but she ignored it and rhythmically pumped him in her right hand as she at last took him into her mouth. 

To be honest, Marianne was quite surprised at just how _eager_ she was to do this.  Roland had sort of ruined the intimacy of fellatio by how much he pestered her for it over the course of their relationship.  Somehow, Bog had erased her indifference and stirred her to a point where she could think of nothing but bringing him to the brink of ecstasy with her lips and tongue. 

Bog moaned in harmony with her as she began to suck him off, and the sound sent shocks straight to her groin.  He tasted so warm and smooth, with just a hint of salt and something woodsy in his natural musk; reminding her of a vast, dark forest in the peak of summer.  How was he able to awaken the primal beast in her so well?

Glancing up, Marianne couldn’t help but smile around her mouthful of...well, _Bog_.  The poor man was practically pasted to his make-shift corner: overwhelmed by the sensations of her wicked attention, his head was tossed back, eyes closed, brow furrowed, chest heaving, and lower lip trembling as if he were chilled.  Almost like he was in the midst of an earthquake, his arms were braced firmly on the wall and the top of the dresser, refusing to touch her or guide her in any way as she worked him.  She wouldn’t have minded if he had, for though Roland (much to her annoyance) had liked to grab her head and take over until both her neck and sinuses complained, she genuinely wanted to know what Bog personally preferred; what would drive him utterly _wild_! 

Oh well, it was impossible not to be flattered by the vision he was presenting to her, regardless: total rapture and surrender to her will!

She bobbed her head faster and held his balls in her free hand, marveling at their weight and rejoicing in each and every helpless sound Bog uttered as she played with them.

It wasn’t long before she could feel Bog starting to tense and shiver, no doubt nearing his limit.  His fingers curled, knuckles turning white, and he panted heavily as his pleading eyes opened to meet hers.

“Marianne!”  He nearly sobbed in warning.  “Marianne, I can’t-!  I’m _gonna_ -!”

But Marianne was not about to release him. 

Oh, no. 

She wanted _all_ he had to give.

Without missing a beat, she wrapped her hands around his thin hips, digging her fingertips into the firm globes of his ass, and _made_ him fuck her mouth, as deep as she could manage without gagging. 

Bog let out a yelp at this development, and his knees must’ve given out, for he half-sagged against his corner, hanging solely off the dresser for support.  Drunk on this filthy power, Marianne purred around his shaft, and Bog’s entire body seized up like a taunt guitar string.

Well, she was going to pluck the sweet music out of him.

“Shit, _fuck_!  M-Marianne, ah-ah-ah- _ah_ - ** _AAAHHH_** _!!!_

Bog cumming really was a thing of beauty to behold.  This big, tough, scary biker guy: thrashing, wailing, and grimacing in insurmountable pleasure as he burst in her mouth like a broken dam. 

And Marianne greedily swallowed _every_ drop of him.

Once he was spent, she let him go with one final peck to his softening length, and Bog, overwhelmed and shaking, slid down to the floor, awkwardly bunching his pants and underwear back up around his waist.

Leaning over, Marianne nipped his flushed ear and murmured:

“ _Still_ think I’m pretending?”

To her delighted surprise, Bog hands immediately came up to frame her face and draw her lips to his own.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head to deepen the kiss.  Rising onto his knees, Bog cradled her to him and plundered her willing mouth with a lust no longer checked.      

Slowly, so as not to frighten away his awakened confidence, Marianne eased his studded leather jacket from his broad shoulders and had to force herself not to squeal when Bog shrugged himself the rest of the way out of it, all without breaking their contact. 

Then, to her (very happy) astonishment, she felt Bog move forward, lowering her to the carpet, growling deep in his throat.

Damn, and she thought he was sexy _before_ when he was timid!

His alpha-male display poured a veritable _flood_ of liquid heat between her legs, and her nipples peaked beneath her strapless bra, aching for him.  Her skin seemed to decide then and there that her clothes were its mortal enemy; for they were all at once too hot, tight, itchy, whatever.  She didn’t care, she just needed them _off_!

Ending the kiss just long enough so she could pull her top over her head, she hadn’t quite considered the fact that she was leaving her half-naked form exposed, which was why she almost squeaked when Bog dove in like a starving man at a banquet.  He zealously gnawed, laved, and palmed every inch of creamy flesh within reach before she could even bring her arms down to hold his head against her, wordlessly encouraging him.  It was like being both mauled _and_ worshiped by a savage beast, and Marianne’s eyes rolled back in rapture at her turn to be the prey.

But heaven had only just begun.

Bog gradually made his way down her body, teasing her belly button with his tongue until she giggled.  When he reached the waistband of her leggings, he stilled and glanced up at her, seeking her permission.  She stroked his cheek, smiling at him with a nod.  He sat up and helped pull off her boots as Marianne wriggled free of the skin-tight bottoms. 

When Bog finally saw her, time might as well have stopped all together for how frozen Marianne felt.  Only one other, horribly undeserving, man had seen her like this before. 

_Does it look okay?  Like, normal?  What if I smell bad?  Should I have waxed more?  What if he doesn’t like any hair at all?  What if I-?_

Her frantic thoughts were banished into that worthless, self-doubting part of her brain where they belonged as soon as she felt Bog’s fingers tentatively drift down her legs.  Goosebumps of course rose on her flesh as he at first petted, then went on to massaging her thighs, making her melt.  She made the mistake of noticing his shamelessly awestruck expression as he watched her, and had to bite back a whimper; he made her feel like a goddess, and she wanted him so bad!

On that note, Marianne eased her knees apart, inviting him further.  Bog wet his lips and appeared to debate something with himself for a moment before he shifted to lay on his front, between her now wide open legs.  His worried eyes met hers, afraid to overstep his bounds, but she just nodded at him, face red with nothing less than desire.

As Bog nuzzled her hipbone, Marianne’s head thudded against the carpet, surrendering to whatever he was planning to do, but she still trembled when she simultaneously felt his breath and right hand lovingly coast over her moist, fevered skin.   

He parted her folds with two fingers, rubbing back and forth from her clit to her entrance at a leisurely pace, and driving her fucking _insane_ as the seconds ticked by!  She bit her lip and couldn’t help the tiny whine she made for more.  Thankfully, Bog apparently had every intention of obliging. 

Her jaw dropped open when he then prodded her soaked core with two fingers before slipping them inside.  She mewled and writhed, erratically whipping her head from side to side as he scissored the digits, stoking her lecherous flames to dangerous heights and coaxing her inner muscles to relax and stretch. 

But when Bog licked her clit, all went _white_.

During their six years, Roland had made a point in letting Marianne know that he _didn’t_ much care for this particular sexual act; and that on the rare occasions he _did_ do it to her, she should’ve considered it a great favor, though he consistently expected _her_ to go down on _him_ , as if that was standard procedure.  His callous attitude had made Marianne feel somewhat ashamed of her own body, and embarrassed for always secretly wanting such an erotic experience in the bedroom.  Her friends and those trashy dime-store novels she sometimes read always made it sound so mind-blowing!

Well, now she was convinced that a lady like herself just needed the right _gentleman_ to enjoy it as she’d always fantasized!

The plain, popcorn ceiling loomed above her, and yet she couldn’t see it.  It was as if she had morphed into a creature aware of the tactile sense alone.  His demanding mouth and fingers on her most private and sacred flesh was like life itself!  She was hyper-sensitive all around; her skin buzzed all over with electricity, the whisper of the carpet against her back, the soothing breeze from the window-mounted AC unit, the pinch of her nails clawing at the patterned nap.  She couldn’t think straight if there was a loaded gun to her head!  All she could do was _feel_ him.

And when Bog then chose to wrap his lips around her clit and twisted his fingers to curl against her G-spot as he quickly pumped her, tears blurred Marianne’s vision and she let out a strangled cry at how unfairly good-good- _GOOD_ it was!

_It had never been like this._

**_Never_** _._

_Not by a long shot._

His free left hand grabbed her right, and she squeezed her only anchor in this glorious tempest.  Her hips started to rock against him of their own accord, chasing after the euphoria he was promising.  Time ceased to have any meaning whatsoever; he could’ve been torturing her for hours, days, _weeks_ , for all she knew.  The only fact, was that there was no one else in her world but _Bog_.

Without warning, it all began to build, as if she were climbing a great cliff-face, knowing full well she was going to be hurled off the edge as soon as she reached its peak.  Briefly, she was terrified of the fall, for there was no doubt it would be without peer in depth and intensity to anything she’d experienced before.

Then she was proven wrong, when everything—mind, body, and soul—exploded, and instead of falling...

...she _soared_.

Marianne stiffened, she arched, she screamed herself hoarse.  Thousands of indescribable colors danced before her eyes, blinding her.  Sweat-slicked legs clamped, and hands dove into short, ebony tresses, keeping him there as he carried her all the way through her dizzying flight of wanton bliss. 

All too soon, it was over, but by no means forgotten.  The inferno calmed to burning coals in her gut.  Tremors rolled over her like the tide.  Was this true freedom?

_Or is it just me and Bog?_

As Marianne lay there on the floor trying to remember how lungs worked, she randomly sent a gigantic, mental middle finger to Bog’s mysterious, shallow ex-girlfriend.  Jesus Christ, if Bog could do _that_ , what woman in her right mind would ever let him go?

_Your loss, bitch.  He’s mine now!_

_Oh, and another middle finger to you too, Roland.  You couldn’t eat pussy for shit!_

As if he was somehow agreeing with her, Bog placed an innocent kiss to her navel and rested his head on her stomach.  Marianne affectionately carded her fingers through his hair, but her eyes held a mischievous gleam. 

She was _definitely_ not done with him yet!

 


	6. Part VI

Thinking of nothing but _more_ , Marianne sat up with perhaps a bit _too_ much enthusiasm. The sudden movement, made Bog utter a quiet yelp of alarm as he awkwardly toppled off of her.

"Oh! Sorry, Bog!" Marianne giggled and blushed as she grabbed his hand and helped them both to their feet.

"No worries." He replied, chuckling as well.

His soft, rumbling laughter and cute smile made it just impossible for her not to kiss him again, so she did just that. Rising on her toes, she locked her fingers behind his neck and sealed her lips against his own. Bog responded in kind, bowing over and drawing her to his front with a sigh. God, she loved how _tall_ he was!  She could stay in his arms forever! _Especially_ when he apparently decided to take it a step further and coax her willing mouth open.

Marianne instantly tilted her head to deepen the kiss, wantonly moaning as she tasted herself on his glorious tongue as they probed and teased each other. Unable to wait another moment longer, she slid her greedy hands down his shoulders and torso until she reached the hem of his grey shirt. Her fingers crept beneath the material, bunching it up over her wrists as she finally felt the bare skin of his toned stomach.

_One, two, thee...yep, that's a six-pack alright!_

He took her hint and pulled the shirt over his head, unknowingly giving Marianne a surprise bonus along with the magnificent view of his lean, naked chest.  For a quick second, she was confused as to why his arms, from wrist to shoulder, were still a dark shade of grey, but it soon became quite clear that that was because his shirt hadn't been long-sleeved.

He was covered in tattoos!

Gasping in wonder, Marianne peered closer in the dim light, ghosting her fingers over the tightly packed and intricate designs of Venus flytraps, thorny vines, ferns, spiders, and tiny, dark blue flowers coating his skin. It was an absolute work of art!

"I like these." She whispered as she thumbed one of the blossoms in the crook of his elbow. "So gorgeous."

He didn't even get a chance to shyly reply before she was kissing him again with an even greater hunger than before. When he tottered back a step, she used it to her advantage and walked him backwards towards the bed without breaking their contact.

Unfortunately, when his legs bumped against the mattress, more or less forcing him to sit down, his earlier anxiety seemed to return, for he stiffened and broke away from her mouth.

“Marianne! W-wait!”

“What’s the matter now?” She asked, cupping his face in her hands and watching him carefully.

“I...I dorn't think we can..."

A trickle of ice slid down her spine.

"I mean, I _want_ to!" Bog hurried to explain, noticing her nervous frown. " _Believe_ me, I do, but...I...I-I dorn’t have a condom.”

Marianne nearly sighed out loud with relief and sifted her fingers soothingly through Bog's hair. Thank God, she'd had the sense to swing by a drug store when she'd stopped for gas in Missouri.

“Is that all? Relax, baby, I got you covered." She murmured before leaning in to playfully lick the shell of his ear and whisper: "Now finish undressing, and lie down on the bed.”

Turning on her heel, she headed to her backpack, making sure to deliberately sway her bare hips, and she grinned to herself when she heard Bog scrambling to do as she'd asked. As she rummaged through her things in search of the box she'd purchased, she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at how comfortable she was walking around in nothing but her bra in front of a man she'd just met.

When at last she found her prize and looked back at the bed, all traces of mirth left her system at the wondrous sight waiting for her. Bog was lying in the center of the bed, propped against the pillows and fiddling with the sheets, which he'd modestly pulled up over his waist.

A new wave of heat pulsed between her thighs and her jaw went slack. Unable to take her eyes off of him, it took her several clumsy tries before she could get the stupid box open enough to extract a single packet. She tossed the rest to the floor by the right nightstand.

_Okay, this is it. Let's go, girl!_

Taking a deep breath to collect herself, and mentally thanking providence for the shadows slightly obscuring both her form and her silly fumbling, she slowly made her way to the foot of the bed. Like a cat, she climbed onto the mattress and crawled over Bog, stopping to sit just above his knees.

When he swallowed thickly, she gave him a lusty smirk, reached behind her, and unhooked her bra. As she revealed the last of herself, for a few awful seconds, her old self-doubt stirred to life again. Her breasts had always been small, a fact that Roland had never been too comforting about.

_Ya could always get implants, if ya want, buttercup._

_Maybe ya should only wear push-up bras, sweetheart._

_Oh, you've got plenty of other pretty things to look at, darlin'!_

But all that crap was erased and a surge of feminine pride flowed through her once she got a load of Bog's reaction. His eyes were glued to her exposed chest as if he were a starving man in a desert staring at two gourds full of cold water. She could even see his chin quivering and hear his breathing increase as his hands fisted in the blanket. She partly wished he would touch her, but she was too impatient for anymore foreplay.

Brushing the discarded bra off the edge of the bed, she threw Bog another smile and bent her head to examine the packet in her hand. However, she was quickly interrupted when Bog chose to break the silence:

“I’ve n-never done this before.”

She paused and glanced up at him, unable to mask her astonishment.

“ _Never_?”

“W-well, _no_! No, not...not _n-never_ ever!" He stammered, and Marianne just knew that even though she couldn't see it, his ears must've been a deep scarlet. "I meant...I’ve never...done this......with someone I jus’ met. I dorn’t...pick up women.”

She hadn't though it was possible, but his admission had only made her affection for him even stronger. He wasn't just honest, he also wasn't one of those guys that thought he needed to be validated by obtaining a long and meaningless sexual history, unlike _somebody_ she knew.

“That’s okay, Bog. You’re actually my first, too; in that sense.”

Damn, why couldn't she have met _him_ six years ago instead of Roland? Why did she have to waste her virginity and time on that blonde waste of space? It sucked, but...it was what it was. You couldn't change the past, you could just hope for a better future by focusing on the present.

So...

Setting the still unopened condom down, Marianne met Bog's gaze and slowly pulled the sheet from his grasp, sliding it down just enough to expose him fully.  Jesus H. Christ, it had to be illegal for one person to look so delicious! She almost preferred to switch on a lamp, so she could see him as clearly as day, if it wasn't so mesmerizing the way the pale blue neon light from the bar sign painted stripes across his form through the blinds.

Unable to help herself, she dragged her open palms all the way down his chest and stomach, lightly scratching with her nails. She thrilled at how he shivered as his muscles rippled under her fingers. He even watched her hands with a look of pure wonder on his face, as if he couldn’t believe this was actually happening to him; that he was being touched in such a way. He was so fucking beautiful.

_And he’s all mine._

That song by Heart came to her mind, so sudden yet appropriately, she nearly had to chew her lip to keep from humming it aloud.

_And you don't need to wonder, you're doing fine~_

_My love, the pleasure's mine~_

_Let me go crazy on ya~_

_Crazy on you~_

_Let me go crazy, crazy on you~_

_Ohhh~_

When she reached his slim hips, her attention was immediately captured by his impressive cock, resting thick and heavy against his thigh. Instinctively, her mouth watered as her core throbbed for him, but she managed to concentrate enough to puck up the packet again and tear the foil open.

With the greatest of care, she gripped Bog in her left hand and expertly rolled the condom onto him, cheering herself on at the choked gasp she heard him make. Once she was done, she scooted closer and into position over him. Bog's hands hesitantly came up to steady her as she lined him up with her entrance.

Then, with one last check for his consent, which he gave with a shaky nod, she lowered herself onto him.

They both moaned in unison as he slipped inside of her, inch by perfect inch. Overwhelmed, Marianne bowed over from the feeling of being so wonderfully filled to the _brim_! Her tight knuckles where white and her chest heaved as if she'd run a marathon. And she was only just _sitting_ there, they hadn't even _begun_ to work up a sweat!

It took _way_ more strength than it should have to lift her head, but she sure was glad she did. The sight of Bog was intoxicating: he was trembling and gaping at the spot where they were joined as if it was the Eighth Wonder of the World, brows furrowed, panting harshly, and fingers clutching at her knees.

He might have been no virgin, but he sure as hell was as cute and innocent as one! 

Taking his wrists, she placed his hands on her hips, thrilling at how they were so large and gentle, they encased her like a porcelain doll.

"Show me what you like."

Meeting her eyes again at her murmuring prompt, Bog's throat bobbed, and when Marianne planted her own hands just below his chest, bracing herself, he started to move her.

!!!

They may have fooled around beforehand, but _nothing_ could've prepared Marianne for this! All the sex she'd had over the years! It...it...it just paled in comparison! No, scratch that, it did **_not_** compare! Not in any way, at _all_!

Bog guided her in a steady and unhurried, pistoning motion and though she was aware of everything: the exquisite ebb and flow of him within her, the sweet burning wherever their flesh was joined, the disjointed sound of their groaning, there was still so much swirling inside of her, so many things she couldn't identify, but it was all bubbling beneath the surface like a champagne bottle about to pop.

She didn't know how she managed to concentrate enough to take the lead again. Perhaps it was the way she saw Bog biting his own lips and heard him groaning, but she soon was riding him the way he seemed to want her to; lifting and sinking on top of him with building speed and force.

Roland had never let her take control like this, but Bog seemed to revel in it! Surrendering completely, his hands drifted to the front of her thighs, his eyes rolled back, and his head writhed on the pillow, wordlessly begging her for more.

And she was certainly happy to give him _that_!

Sitting up straight, she drover herself onto him even harder and faster. Fucking him like a jackhammer, she bounced and swayed, making him cry out and retaliate by bucking his hips up beneath her. She could've fainted right then and there, had Bog not chosen to up the ante even further by reaching between them and rapidly thumbing her clit!

Until now, Marianne had always had to do that herself to get off, so naturally, the instant rapture, combined with her blatant shock were a deadly combination, and she found herself being hurled over the edge as her orgasm claimed her with a swiftness and fury she could barely comprehend!

She shrieked as everything seized up and quaked, her hands flew aimlessly over her face and hair, she thrummed internally with fire and abandon. Despite all this, she was still not one hundred percent satisfied. The swirling from earlier remained, demanding an even greater release...

...just as soon as she could catch her breath...

She was so lost in the sensations cascading over her, she was totally caught off guard when Bog suddenly sat up, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and began to rock his hips again!

The new position was the most intimate she’d ever experienced! Sure, they were still screwing each other's brains out like rabbits, but at the same time, it was different. He was right there! Not above, not behind, nor below. This was equal. This was...

Natural.

Right.

Meant to be.

_Maybe even-?_

Her thoughts were scattered by Bog as he dove for her breasts, tearing the breath from her the instant she felt the rasp of his teeth, the push and pull of his thin lips, and the wicked brush of his tongue over her peaked flesh. She arched her back with a helpless whine, offering him more as if it were tribute to a god.

Ironic, considering how it seemed like _she_  was the one being worshiped.

The sinfully wild heat of his skin could've _seared_ her own. She clung to his hard, sculpted masterpiece of a chest and the feelings of lust, comfort, and protection it gave her all at once. His strong, tattooed arms around her waist, keeping her tethered not only to him, but to her own sanity.

It was almost all too much and not enough at the same time! She bounced in his lap, needing him deeper, quicker! When he'd finished suckling her, he embraced her firmly, molding them together. Helpless, Marianne's hands stroked down his spine, and one could imagine her joy when Bog jumped and nearly roared in her ear from the action. He became feral then, rutting into her and snarling against her flesh.

She never knew sex could be like this.

Just beyond _words_.

Beyond mortal _comprehension_!

Was this normal?

If so, how in the hell had the human race survived so long?!

_'Cause I'm about to DIE, IT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD!!!_

The crest was fast approaching, and Marianne could only hope she wouldn't pass out first, they were so close. Their forceful, pounding rhythm grew erratic, their voices rose, they held tighter, as if their very existence was at stake.

"Oh, God! Bog, I'm gonna cum!" She pleaded, kissing his jaw. "I'm gonna cum so hard!"

"Me too!" He growled. "Cum with me, Tough Girl! Aw, fuck, yes!"

And then it was magic.

One final thrust more was all it took for her very soul, the room, and the entire goddamn state of Texas to shatter into countless, tiny pieces. Swirling, raging, molten pleasure poured over Marianne's body like lava. The intensity alone was almost terrifying, so she clung to Bog like a life preserver in a tempest.

Everything that had been swirling and storming inside Marianne came rocketing out like a nuclear strike, and Bog was in similar shape. His mouth pressed to hers as they screamed through their climax. When their lips did break apart, they could do nothing besides hold each other, gulping in air and quivering. At some point, Bog sank forward, cradling her between his torso and his drawn up knees for several, long, speechless minutes, as a sated numbness seeped into their bones.

Marianne felt tears leak from her eyes just before Bog finally flopped backwards onto the mattress, taking her with him. She was too limp do anything when he nudged her off of him, and she was somewhat aware of him leaning away over the bed to mess with something she couldn't see.

The faint thud she heard from the wastepaper basket solved that mystery.

_Congratulations, girl. Operation: 'Get Me Laid' was a BIG success!_

She fought to stay awake, but it was just no use. He'd ruined her in the best way imaginable. There was just not a single ounce of energy for her to spare, even for afterglow. So, the second she felt him slip his arms around her again and give a kiss to her temple, she sighed and gave into the blackness creeping into her vision and fell into a blissful sleep.

  

* * *

  
The first thing Marianne was aware of in the sweet darkness was a series of small, tender pressures against her neck and the back of her left shoulder. She gave a groggy hum of contentment and the more she focused on the sensations, the more the darkness around her melted away until a different (and quite unpleasant) pressure was poking at her eyelids.

Squinting and blinking, she realized that it was the golden light of morning filtering in through the blinds that was assaulting her eyes...

...but she didn't give a damn, because it was Bog's kisses caressing her skin.

Smiling lazily, and more than a little pleased that he hadn't left, she rolled over to catch his lips with her own and silently rejoiced in the feeling of their naked bodies pressed together once again. Looping her arms around him, she made sure any space between them was practically nonexistent, and she shivered in the best way possible as Bog's hands slid back and forth along her sides from the top of her ribs all the way to her shapely hips.

“Mornin’.” He crooned when they separated.

“Mm, g’morning. You know, I've never been kissed awake before.”

Bog wrinkled his nose at her.

“Seriously?”

Marianne shrugged.

“He was an idiot.”

They both snorted before Bog continued.

“How do ye feel? I didn't hurt ye, did I?”

“...How do I _look_?”

“...Perfect.”

“Then 'perfect' it is.”

He laughed quietly and tickled her, much to her squealing protest, which led to more kisses.

"What time is it?" She asked randomly, unable to see the clock on the nightstand due to the box of condoms blocking her view; Bog must've put them there sometime during the night.

"Just after ten."

"Oh."

She was just about to relax into another make-out session when a thought occurred to her and she stiffened.

"Shit, I haven't kept you from work, have I?!"

"Nah, I run the auto shop, remember?" Bog dismissed. "I can come in whenever I want. Though I'll bet ye anythin' my friends are all late, too. Yer ex is probably in his underwear an' hogtied in a muddy ditch off the highway next to his car. The sheriff should be towin' him out as we speak. He's Brutus's dad, so he'll jus' tell 'im to get dressed an' piss off."

Relieved, and snickering at the image, Marianne settled back down and traced one of the many patterns in his tattoos.

"So, I'm yers until ye...um..."

And just like that, reality came crashing in like a derailed train. Marianne froze as cold, awkward, embarrassment, soured the mood. It was strange, although having sex with a stranger had been the plan from the get-go, she hadn't once considered the morning-after conversation. Mostly because, she hadn't expected there to be a need for one.

_Because you didn't expect to like the guy you picked so much._

"Wh-...wh-where will ye go now?"

It truly stunned her how much it hurt to hear the subtle note of sadness in Bog's question, but what was even more disarming was the splash of fear and resistance in her gut at the thought of leaving at all.

_But that's insane! I just left my whole life behind yesterday! How can I possibly want to stay here with a guy I didn't even know existed 24 hours ago?!_

_._

_._

_._

_Because I can._

_I've finally got the freedom to do whatever the hell I want and..._

_...what I want..._

_._

_._

_._

_...is him._

_If he'll have me. And if it doesn't work out? I can just pack up and head out again like I'd intended. Like Bog said, no worries. It's the 80's girl; take a chance, even if it's nuts!_

"I...I don't know." She muttered, resuming her writing on his arm. "I'm...not tied down at all, so......I could...potentially go anywhere..."

She paused and looked pointedly at him, conveying her message. It was the longest, most nerve-wracking moment of her life, but when Bog's eyes sparked with understanding, she mentally crossed her fingers.

"...or......or s-stay anywhere?" He supplied.

She nodded.

"Yeah."

Bog looked away then gnawed at his lip, apparently thinking hard about something. Marianne ached to know what it was, but she opted to just stare at his tattoos and pretend to be casual, even if her flushed cheeks said otherwise.

"Marianne," Bog finally spoke and she swore her heart skipped a beat, "I...I-I know we jus' met but, i-if ye...wa-want to stay, I'd......I know I'd really like that."

"You would?"

"V-very much."

Far beneath the flattery and happiness there was a stirring deep within Marianne at his words. She wasn't sure what it was, but it was sort of familiar and _very_ comforting.

_Could it be-?_

"Actually," Bog exclaimed, distracting her, "if ye dorn't mind stayin' in the hotel fer a few more days, Steph's lookin' fer a knew roommate! Her cousin's movin' to Austin next week, an' I'm sure she'd be glad to have ye!"

" _Really_? That sounds great but, wouldn't Theo wanna move in with her? Being her boyfriend and all?"

"Well, to tell ye the truth, they've been friends fer years, but they only started datin' a few months ago, so they're takin' it slow. Plus, small town; we're just a bit more traditional around here."

Marianne shrugged, not minding in the least. She knew they'd need to take things slow, too.

"What about a job? Do you know anyone who's hiring? I honestly don't care as long as it's not desk work."

She'd had enough of being bored to death.

Bog frowned in consideration before glancing out the window and his face lit up.

"Have ye...e-ever tended bar? Mom an' I could definitely use any extra help we can get. It pays well fer the area, an' I guarantee ye'd get lots o' tips. Our clientele's always friendly an' generous."

At the mention of _The Bog n' Brew_ , Marianne beamed. She'd been enamored with that place the instant she walked in. There was no doubt in her mind that she'd enjoy working there, listening to her favorite bands, making new friends, and seeing Bog and his gang almost every day.

It was just what she wanted: a brand new start.

_Ah, what the hell? Sign me up!_

Smirking lecherously and sneaking a hand under the blanket, she lightly pinched Bog's ass

"I guess Groom, TX has a new resident, then.  Shall we _seal_ the _deal_ , Mr. King?"

Bog gaped at her for a beat before the biggest and most boyish damn grin she'd ever seen spread across his mouth and he snatched another condom from the box.

As she eagerly spread her legs for him, Marianne wondered where this new adventure would take her. When their lips and bodies met again, she realized she didn't care, just as long as she got to enjoy both it and this inspiring connection with Bog, whatever it was.

It was _way_ too soon to call it love, but if he kept on being the incredibly kind, humble, genuine, and sexy man she'd found...

_...by God, it **will** be._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Share your thoughts and support! They do wonders!  
> <3<3<3


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